Fractured Magic: Chapter Twenty-Four

Fractured Magic is a fantasy webserial about political and personal accountability, ghosts both figurative and literal, and a pair of estranged friends who act like they’ve gone through the world’s messiest divorce.

A Note From The Author: Hi Friends! I have some short housekeeping announcements to make before this (VERY big, VERY exciting) chapter. First, you may have noticed that the publishing schedule has been a tad inconsistent. My day job has been rough lately, and it'll probably continue to be so for a while. I'm going to do my best to keep publishing a chapter a week, but it may not be routinely on Mondays.

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Third and finally, this April's Newsletter (which will come out tomorrow, 4/11) contains something VERY exciting: an EARLY COVER REVEAL for Volume I of Fractured Magic! Once Volume I has finished serializing, it will be available in print. Pre-orders are going to open up in a month or so, so keep an eye out!

Thank you for your patience and support! And now, back to our regularly scheduled content.

Leandros glanced over his shoulder as he left his hotel, unable to shake the ubiquitous sense of wrongness that always followed him through Gallontea, the sense of being watched. On its own, the feeling was no surprise. He was a prince and the subject of a dozen of recent headlines, besides. It was only natural that he should be watched, but he’d just yesterday moved hotels to escape the reporters. It seemed unlikely they would find him again so soon.

He’d chosen a hotel as close to the island as he could get: a straight shot down a busy thoroughfare. It shortened the time spent in-between, out in the open and surrounded by dubious strangers. It limited the time spent being followed. It grated on him. He’d never been an overly cautious individual, had never worried much after his own safety. It wasn’t that he’d never needed to; while the palace was safe, traveling with Egil had not been. It was one thing to risk his own life, though, and another to be reckless when his uncle depended on him reaching Illyon in one piece.

Still, it was an exquisite torture to walk through Gallontea’s crowds and not participate in them. Everywhere Leandros looked, people walked and talked, dined on patios or rode horses in pairs. He passed a man telling a story to his friends, his voice loud and his movements animated. Across the street, a woman broke out in bright, unrestrained laughter. There was so much feeling in Gallontea: joy, humor, fear, excitement. Leandros liked it so much better than solemn, subdued Alfheimr. He wanted to explore all it had to offer.

When Leandros was young, things had been different. He had been different. Following Egil across the continent, casting aside his family’s hopes and his people’s rules, had been simple.

He recalled a story that had broken in Alfheimr a few years back: a previously-healthy woman, the widow of a former Alfheim Council Member, died only months after her husband. In the weeks leading up to her death, she had gone blind and her voice had left her completely. When the post mortem revealed caustic damage to her airways and lungs, the city cried murder. An investigation quickly uncovered the culprit: the widow’s mourning veil.

The veil had had been made of the stiff black crape that had recently come into vogue, a fabric that was colored and treated with substances that stained her skin and filled her lungs with toxins: haematoxylin and bichromate of potash and copper chloride. But the saddest part of the story was this: a lady-in-waiting testified that her mistress had known it was the veil causing her slow decay. Proper mourning was expected of her, and so she had mourned her husband to the last.

These days, his people’s rules and his family’s hopes covered Leandros like that veil. With every breath, he inhaled poison. He could not see a way out from this life.

Across the square, a frantic movement caught his eye. It was Eftychia O’Neill, sitting cross-legged on the fieldstone wall near the bridge to Unity’s island. As Leandros approached, she patted the spot beside her. While he didn’t hop up like she had, he leaned against it, intentionally adjusting his normally-stiff posture. He wasn’t in Alfheimr, now. He could allow himself this, at least.

“Hello, Captain!” Eftychia greeted.

“Hello, Ms. O’Neill.”

“Eftychia,” the orinian corrected. Then, “Actually, just Chia.”

“You seem cheerful this morning,” Leandros said, as if she hadn’t been just the same during their first meeting.

Today, Chia wore a wide-brimmed straw hat decked with lace and flowers, and a similar sweater-skirt combination as the day before. None of it matched. She beamed at him. “I am indeed. I was given a job I really didn’t want to do, but just this morning, my bosses said I no longer have to do it.”

Knowing she was an Enforcer, that concerned Leandros. Her “bosses” could only be the Magistrate, and he had a feeling that “job” certainly didn’t refer to paperwork. Goosebumps ran down his skin.

“What were you thinking about just now?” Chia asked.

“Just when?”

“When you stood across the square. You always look sad when you think no one’s watching, I’ve noticed,” she said. This was only their second conversation; to make such a perceptive observation, Leandros wondered how much she must have been watching him outside of that. “That’s why I called you a mourning dove yesterday. They’re named that because of the sound of their calls, you know. Very mournful. But you still haven’t answered my question.”

Leandros could point out that she hadn’t given him the chance to, but instead he said, “I was thinking about how easily love lost can ruin an adventuring spirit.”

“Love lost? Do tell,” Chia said, leaning in.

Leandros shook his head. “You asked what I was thinking, and that’s all you’ll get.”

“How cruel.” Chia sighed, then brightened. “Oh! Hello, Eresh! What’s gotten into you?”

Leandros looked over just as the dryad joined them, wide-eyed and out of breath with a newspaper clutched to his chest. “Captain!” he panted. “Have you seen the papers?”

Leandros held a hand out. “Not yet. Let me see.”

Eresh hesitated, fingers tightening and twisting around the paper. “I should warn you, they—”

“Mr. Ochoa.”

With a grimace, Eresh handed the paper over. At first, Leandros thought it was a joke. He read the headline again and again, but he couldn’t get past the first two words, big and bold and spelling out: “EGIL RETURNS.”

He looked up at Eresh, saying nothing, and whatever the dryad saw on his face made him take a nervous step back. “Several witnesses saw him alive, Captain. He told them to send a message to Unity.”

“And that was?” Leandros asked.

Eresh swallowed nervously. “That he was the one behind the break-in on the island.”

“An impostor,” Leandros said. The world around him felt distant, like he was falling deeper inside himself, into blackness. “Someone is just pretending to be him.”

And he’d kill them, when he found them.

Chia peered over his shoulder to read the paper. “Oh,” she said. She didn’t sound particularly surprised, and that poked a hole in Leandros’ impostor theory. Did Unity know something he didn’t?

“Who else could break onto Unity’s island?” Eresh asked. And that, too, was a valid point. Leandros thought back to the day of the break-in. That afternoon, he thought he’d seen someone that almost looked like — but no. It was impossible. He’d held Egil’s lifeless body in his arms. This was a lie, and hoping would only hurt him.

“Captain,” Eresh asked. “Do we need to cancel today’s plans?”

The question, the gentle way it was phrased, annoyed Leandros. He opened his mouth to lash out, to free the anger that always lurked inside him, but then Gareth arrived in much the same state as Eresh had: disheveled and out of breath. His waistcoat was off by one button, Leandros noticed, and his hat was askew.

“Prince Nochdvor, good morning. Can we speak privately?” he asked, barely sparing the other two a glance.

“Is this about the papers?” Leandros asked. “I’ve already seen them.”

“The papers? No, I — I overslept this morning and haven’t had a chance to read them. Why? What happened?”

“Oh dear,” Eresh said, sharing a look with Chia.

With a hand on his shoulder, Leandros steered Gareth away from the other two onto the bridge, just far enough to get away from the crowds. “What is it, then?” he asked.

Gareth removed his hat, fidgeted with it while he explained, “I overheard something terrible last night and I feel it’s my duty to warn you, relations to the other party be damned. My sister was meeting with a friend of mine — the one I put forward for the personal guard position. I hope you won’t think less of me for the confession, but I admit I was eavesdropping. I know it’s wrong, but I couldn’t resist. It’s a terrible habit. I—”

“Please, Mr. Ranulf,” Leandros said, falling back into stiff manners. It was an easy defense mechanism, a protective shield, after all his years in Alfheim. “May I ask what you heard?”

“They want to frame you for the break-in on the island,” Gareth blurted. “Moira — well, all of the Magistrates want you out of the way. They said they would plant evidence, if they have to, and that if they can’t find your uncle they’ll blame you for that, too.”

Outwardly, Leandros didn’t react. Inwardly, he was surprised. It wasn’t what he’d expected to hear. “Is that all? You’re sure?”

“Yes, I know, it’s horrib— ah? What do you mean, ‘is that all’?”

Truthfully, Leandros expected Unity to kill him. During his first meeting with the Magistrates, he had threatened to expose their secrets — secrets they had bound him to, secrets that could destroy them. Ever since, he’d been locking every door, checking every shadow, sleeping with a gun tucked under his mattress, sure he’d face consequences. He’d never admit it out loud, but he was just trying to survive long enough to rescue his uncle. After that, as long as he succeeded in that, they could have him.

Given the nature of his threat, the Magistrates choosing to frame him seemed uncharacteristically reckless. The best way to silence him was to kill him; framing him almost guaranteed that he’d talk. He couldn’t understand why they would take that risk unless…unless he had something they wanted. But what?

“It seems strange, doesn’t it? Framing me, instead of killing me?” Leandros asked, more to himself than Gareth. Gareth looked horrified.

The timing, too, didn’t escape Leandros: one of the Magistrates admitting to this plan the same day Egil allegedly and dramatically returned from the grave, taking full responsibility for the break-in. It was as if Egil knew and had timed it on purpose. And wouldn’t that be just like him.

“Who did you say your sister was talking to?” he asked.

“A new friend of mine — he just split with his partner, so he’s been staying with me as he gets re-settled. I put his name forward when the guard position opened because—”

“His name, Mr. Ranulf.”

Gareth fidgeted with his hat again. He looked guilty as he said, “Hallisey. Roman Hallisey.”

The name didn’t surprise Leandros. He wished it had. Though he kept a straight face, inside, he was falling and falling and falling away.

“You know him, don’t you?” Gareth asked, watching Leandros like he was waiting for him to break. “Who is he to you, Captain? He won’t say.”

“Describe him for me,” Leandros demanded, ignoring Gareth’s question. He could barely hear it, anyway, past the pounding of his heart. There was still a chance this was an impostor. He had to believe this was just an impostor.

Gareth blinked. “Ah…about this tall,” he said, holding a hand just above the top of his own head. “Curly hair, exceptionally dark eyes.”

It was no impostor. “What did he have to say about your sister’s plan?”

“I didn’t hear the end of the conversation, I’m afraid.”

Leandros leaned back against the stone wall, his legs no longer able to support him. “And how long has he been in Gallontea? Do you know?”

“At least as long as the Rinehart Festival has been running. His partner was one of the Webhon Players.”

Leandros closed his eyes. He knew exactly which one. He saw the actress’s face perfectly in his mind, gentle and lovely. So that was why she’d been on the island that day. And the man with her, the one he’d glimpsed only briefly, really had been Egil. Leandros was a fool.

He laughed suddenly, startling Gareth. It carried a cruel note, and Leandros noticed Gareth flinch. “It’s incredible, Mr. Ranulf,  that you asked me so many questions about Egil when all this time you’ve had him living under your own roof.”

Gareth drew in a sharp breath. “I beg your pardon?”

Leandros shoved the paper at him. Without waiting for him to read it, barely waiting for him to take it, he made his way back to Eresh and Chia.

“Aren’t you nervous you’re going to fall?” Eresh was asking Chia as Leandros approached. The dryad was peering over the wall, at steep rocks that led down to crashing waves. When he noticed the alfar, he straightened. “Everything all right, Captain?”

“Perfectly,” Leandros said. He must’ve controlled his tone well Eresh relaxed and Chia smiled. “Where to first, Ms. O’Neill?”

“I was thinking of taking you through my favorite park. Is that acceptable, Captain Snake?”

“Snake?” Leandros asked, surprised, but Chia was already wrinkling her nose and shaking her head.

“I saw the bottom of your tattoo and thought I would try it out, but it definitely doesn’t fit.”

Leandros looked down at his wrist. His sleeve easily hid the tattoo that twisted up his forearm; all of his sleeves did. When had she seen it? He eyed her warily. No other Enforcer had made attempts to befriend him; that alone made her suspicious. The “job” she’d mentioned earlier might have involved Unity’s plan to frame him, a plan now made pointless by Egil’s grand return.

But if that was the case, did he have anything more to fear from her? He couldn’t trust the Enforcers, but he could at least trust this: if Unity was trying to frame him, it was likely because they needed him alive. As an Enforcer, Eftychia would know that. Suddenly, with her at his side, he felt safer than he had since leaving his uncle’s palace for Illyon. The relief was dizzying.

“Wherever you want to go is acceptable to me,” Leandros said, smiling at Chia. She smiled brightly back.

When Gareth rejoined them, Leandros ignored the man’s attempts to catch his eye and followed Chia across the square. She linked her arm with his, and he allowed it because it meant Gareth and Eresh had to walk behind them on the sidewalk.

“How much do you know about Gallontea, Captain?” Chia asked, looking up at him from beneath long eyelashes.

Leandros didn’t notice the look. “Academically? A little. Practically, much less. I’ve been here before, but only for short stays.”

“Then you may already know that we stand in the historic downtown,” she said, gesturing broadly. “When Gallonteans first settled on the water, Unity was still a part of the city. That building over there, the post office, was one of the first Unity buildings. It was only much later, when Unity had outgrown the city, that it moved to the island. Ah! Here we are.”

At that last part, she turned them toward a vividly green park. It was full of others out for a promenade, getting the last out of their summer walking ensembles and the warm weather. No one paid their group much mind and Chia leaned in, some of her dark hair draping over his shoulder. “Captain, since I’m being such an excellent guide, may I ask you a few questions? I’d like to get to know you better, so I can find you a nickname that fits.”

Leandros raised an eyebrow. It was only thanks to her accompaniment that he felt safe to explore the city. If this was the price, he would pay it. “Very well, but only a few.”

“That’s so subjective!” Chia protested. “I can stretch a few to four, five. May I ask you five questions?”

“Three.”

She sighed. “How storybook,” she said, sounding more pleased than disappointed. She reached over, almost touching his face but stopping at the last moment. “Where did you get that scar on your cheek? It looks very heroic.”

Leandros touched the scar self-consciously. “I’m sorry to disappoint, then. I got it in a bar fight.”

Chia laughed and clapped her hands together, delighted.

“Really?” Eresh asked from behind them. “I didn’t think you even had those in Alfheimr — fights, not bars.”

“As many as anywhere else; this was my first,” Leandros said. He’d tried to stay out of it, but a swing meant for Egil had missed the hero and struck Leandros instead. Egil was the one who’d started the fight, who’d chosen the bar. He was also the one who’d stitched Leandros up afterward, who’d taken him to his favorite opera in apology, who’d taught him to defend himself so it never happened again.

Was he teaching that actress, now, too?

“May I ask you a question in return?” Leandros asked Chia to distract himself. The orinian narrowed her eyes and nodded. “How did you end up in Gallontea?”

“I’ve never even been to Orean, if that’s what you’re asking. I grew up here. My turn: what scares you the most?”

Leandros didn’t for one moment consider giving an honest answer. “Red dragons. My father used to tell my cousin and I terrifying stories about them.”

“How traumatic,” Chia said. She took his hand and pressed it to her heart. “Don’t you worry: I’ll defend you from them on the journey. From your father’s stories, too.”

As gently as he could, Leandros removed his hand. “There’s no need for that. My father was executed for treason a long time ago.”

Chia clapped a hand over her mouth.

“It’s all right,” Leandros assured her.

“What happened?” she asked tentatively. She then waved her hands between them. “No, don’t answer that! That wasn’t one of my questions!”

“It’s a matter of public record, so I won’t count it. He wanted the throne, tried to kill his own brother for it, and gave little thought to the lifetime of pain he was inflicting on his son in the process.” Leandros shrugged. “But there’s a novel based on the story; I’m sure Mr. Ranulf could tell you more.”

Gareth jumped at being suddenly addressed. “I — well, yes. It’s an Egil story. I’m familiar.” At the mention of Egil, an uneasy tension settled between them until Gareth blurted, “Did you not really kill him in Histrios?”

Beside Leandros, Chia went carefully quiet, watching the alfar for his response. Neatly, Leandros side-stepped the question. “Aren’t you the Egil scholar? I’d expect you to know the stories.”

“The stories are clearly all lies!” Gareth hissed. He had stopped walking, and now Leandros turned to face him. Anger flickered behind Gareth’s eyes, the most Leandros had ever seen from him. Still, that flicker was nothing to Leandros’ raging inferno.

“Are you calling me a liar?” he asked calmly. It was a warning, a sheet of dark clouds on the horizon.

“How can you be a liar when you haven’t said anything?” Gareth asked. “Prince Nochdvor, please. Would you really rather hide away in a palace than tell us what happened?”

Leandros stepped closer. He towered over the shorter human. “I’ll tell you this, Mr. Ranulf: I held Egil in my arms as he bled out. I felt the moment his heart stopped. If I hid away, it had nothing to do with people like you, demanding answers they don’t deserve. If I hid away, it was because I was in mourning — and now, I’m left to question if that mourning was all for nothing. So watch where you direct your frustrations.”

Gareth fell back a step. “Yes, you’re right. I apologize.”

Turning on his heel, Leandros kept walking, not waiting for the others to catch up. Chia kept pace with him, though, and gave his arm a comforting pat. “A lion cub,” she said. It felt like a peace offering. “That’s what you are. You’ll grow into your roar soon, I think.”

Despite himself, Leandros almost smiled. “I feel like I should be offended, but I suppose it’s better than a weasel.”

“Hey!” Eresh said from behind them. “Chia, please pick a different one for me.”

“Have you ever seen a weasel, Eresh? They’re so cute! Just like you.”

Chia and Eresh’s bickering gave Leandros time and space to get himself under control — and to stop thinking about Egil, or at least to try.

“Oh,” Eresh said suddenly. He eyed the park exit with a peculiar expression, and Leandros followed his gaze to an unusual tree. Its bark was white — not spotted like a birch or chipped like a sycamore, but a uniform bleached-bone white. While the surrounding trees were still in states of green and orange and hadn’t yet dropped their leaves, this one was already bare. It stretched over the walking path, bending on swollen joints.

“A candlewood tree? Here?” Gareth asked. When the others shot him questioning looks, he explained, “There’s an orchard of them near my home in Adriat. I see them whenever we head into town.”

“You know what they are?” Eresh asked, surprised. “Most humans don’t.”

Gareth nodded, lips pressed into a thin line. Beside Leandros, Chia stifled a yawn and looked around the park. “What is it?” Leandros asked.

“A grave. A grave marker, technically. In a way, it’s also a womb,” Eresh answered.  “When a nymph dies, we’re buried in the ground, much like humans — unlike humans, though, a candlewood tree grows over us. It stands for a decade or so until one day, it blooms. Once it drops its flowers, an infant sings its way out of the trunk. That’s why we view death so differently from the rest of you. From death comes life.”

“And there’s a whole orchard of these?” Chia asked, tuning back in. “A field of dead nymphs?”

“And what is a cemetery?” Eresh countered. “It can be traumatic for a young nymph, singing their way out of a tree to find themselves completely alone. You never really recover; I should know. When we keep them together, we can watch for blooms and be there when the nymph emerges. From the look of it, this one is fairly new. I do hope someone’s monitoring it.”

“I’m sure they are. The fact that the groundskeeper hasn’t cut it down means they must know what it is,” Chia said.

Eresh winced at the words “cut it down” but nodded, nervously running his hands over the top of his mossy head. “I’m sure you’re right.”

“Come! Let’s continue the tour,” Chia said, skipping ahead. And they did, passing out of the park and deeper into Gallontea. While Eresh pointed out historical buildings and unique architecture, Chia’s portion of the tour was more personal, filled with things like “Here’s where I got in my first fight!” and “This is the best bakery in the whole world.” It worked to distract Leandros, at least until the orinian looked over her shoulder and asked, “Lion cub, are you aware you’re being followed?”

“Captain,” Leandros tried to correct. It was better than the other Enforcers insisting on Your Highness and Prince Nochdvor, though.

“What do you mean, being followed?” Eresh asked, his voice rising an octave.

“I meant what I said. There are two of them: a human with a brownish beard, and another with a wide-brimmed hat. They’re not very good; I caught sight of them three whole times, once at the bridge, once in the park, and again just now,” Chia mused.

Leandros was surprised she’d said anything; he’d thought the men belonged to Unity. If Chia didn’t know about them, though, that couldn’t be the case. “Hmm,” he said, concerned.

“So you didn’t know?”

“I knew. It’s been happening all week,” he told her. He’d seen them this morning, on his way out of his hotel. “It’s not always the same two — I’ve seen six or seven different people around. They seem to follow me in shifts.”

“What! Captain, why didn’t you tell the Magistrates?” Chia asked. When Leandros only gave her a look in reply, she gave him a knowing look back and sighed. “Oh, that’s fair. It’s not us, though, I promise.”

Leandros believed her. Eftychia O’Neill, he was beginning to learn, was not a dishonest person, but only because she knew the truth was often the more discomfiting option. “But who would be following the Captain?” Eresh asked. He kept looking back to see if he could find the men in question.

“And why?” Gareth asked, more thoughtfully.

Chia ignored both of them except to say, “Stop it, Eresh. They’ll know we saw them.” She asked Leandros, “Do you know if they’re violent?”

“They’re certainly armed. I’ve been careful not to go anywhere alone since I first noticed them, so I can’t say for sure.”

“Do you know who they might be? Have you noticed any symbols or emblems on them?”

“None at all. They could be anyone: fans of Egil’s, mad about Histrios. Someone from Alfheimr who wants me out of the picture. Someone who hates Unity and doesn’t want them to succeed.” A chilling thought occurred to him. “They could work for the woman who took my uncle.” Even as he said it, though, he doubted it. That woman didn’t strike him as someone who works well with others.

Chia smiled at him. “There’s a little pedestrian mall near here that’s been closed for construction. What do you say we go there next? Just you and me, this time?”

Leandros considered the question. That he would consider going anywhere alone with an Enforcer was foolish, but he thought he saw the shape of Chia’s plan. “You want to set a trap?”

Chia’s smile widened. “I want to teach them not to mess with Unity’s things.”

That should have bothered Leandros more than it did. “Let’s go.”

“Eftychia! Captain! This — this is absurd!”

“I have to agree. Is this really wise?” Gareth asked. “Whoever this is could be dangerous. Captain, maybe we could go get—”

“Think carefully before you finish that sentence, Mr. Ranulf,” Leandros warned. “I can assure you, I’m dangerous enough on my own.”

“Well said! Come, let’s go. If they’re ever going to approach you, it’ll be when you’re alone with a poor, defenseless young girl. Goodbye, Eresh! Goodbye, Mr. Ranulf! It’s a shame we didn’t get to explore more of the city together!” Chia said, already waving her goodbyes. As they walked away, she dropped her voice and asked Leandros, quieter, “This is a fun way to end the day, don’t you think?”

“I don’t know about fun,” Leandros disagreed, but he didn’t put much into it. Truthfully, he was excited: he looked forward to working off this restless energy, to learning what these strangers wanted, to being able to sleep without one hand on a gun.

“There may be more than just the two. I couldn’t tell,” Chia warned.

“It’s a good thing I have an Enforcer at my side, then.”

Chia threw back her head and laughed. “So you do know! Evelyne warned me you might. Shall I tell her, or keep it between us? It would be very funny to see her face when she learns for herself.”

Already, there were less people around them, and the crowds disappeared completely when they ducked around a barrier and turned onto an empty pedestrian street full of dark storefronts. The cobblestone path was half-torn up, but no construction crew was around today to work on it. Chia and Leandros had to pick their way through the carnage carefully. Curious, Leandros asked, “Is Evelyne not your superior?”

Chia gave a careless shrug. “She’s had the job for far longer, but she’s not my superior. We don’t have superiors. I answer only to the Magistrates.”

That explained some of the tension between Evelyne and the others. “I see. By the way, I don’t suppose you have a gun?” Leandros asked.

“No, I don’t like guns. They end fights too quickly. This is the perfect spot, don’t you think?”

It truly was an excellent place to orchestrate an ambush. They both slowed their paces to give their pursuers time to catch up. They meandered on until, finally, they turned a corner and found two men blocking their way: one with a wide-brimmed hat and one with a brownish beard.

“Prince Nochdvor,” said the man with the hat, “You’re a hard man to catch.”

“I’m being caught, am I?” Leandros asked mildly, making Chia snort.

The man hesitated, realizing something was off about his prey. They weren’t scared. They weren’t even surprised. He shared a look with his companion, and bearded man whistled. As it turned out, they hadn’t come alone: four others sank out of the shadows, crept up from behind. Leandros quickly assessed their opponents, then raised his hands in surrender. Barely keeping the glee off her face, Chia followed his lead. “You have no idea who you’re dealing with,” he said.

“No? We’ve been after you for a long time, Your Highness,” the bearded man said. They had the look of mercenaries, well-dressed but nondescript. Each held a weapon — short blades, guns, and one with callused fists — with a confidence that only came from experience. There was nothing supernatural about them, at least. Not like that woman from Illyon.

One of them shoved Leandros from behind. Normally, such a thing wouldn’t have moved him, but he stumbled into the man with the hat, his hand flying to the man’s chest to catch his balance. As soon as his fingers made contact with the fabric, he twisted his hand in it, slipped a foot between the man’s legs, and hooked his knees into buckling. Then, he pivoted, using his grip to throw the man to the ground. It happened so quickly that Chia took a moment to process it. When she did, she laughed and threw her shoulder into the mercenary closest to her.

None of them had expected Chia to contribute to the fight, their attention on Leandros instead, and she took advantage: she caught another with a powerful haymaker while Leandros moved counter-clockwise to her, on to the next mercenary in the circle. He grabbed and twisted the woman’s arm away before she could aim her gun, then spun and elbowed her in the face, wrenching her arm as he did. While she flailed back, he took her gun and used it to shoot the man charging Chia. Chia, who’d braced herself for the blow, pouted. “You’re ruining my fun, lion cub!”

Leandros grinned, wider and sharper than he normally allowed himself, and dodged a blow from the man with the beard. He felt alive for the first time since the explosion in Illyon. No, since long before that. Flicking the safety on, he made a show of dropping the gun and kicking it away. “Apologies.”

When the man with the hat, now back on his feet, came at Leandros again, Leandros hit him squarely in the mouth once, twice, thrice, arms moving like the walking beams of a locomotive. Chia, who’d apparently been watching his form, called, “I never would’ve thought you a pugilist, Captain! Have you ever done any prize fighting?”

Leandros’ opponent spat out a tooth and swung at Leandros; it was obvious and clumsy. “That, I won’t tell you,” Leandros called back to Chia, though the statement was practically an admission. It had taken some decades after the rest of the world for bare-knuckle boxing to come to Alfheimr, but as soon as it had, Leandros began regularly sneaking out of the palace to watch — and sometimes participate in — matches. It was one of his greatest pleasures, next to his penny dreadfuls.

“I hope you’ll give me a match sometime,” Chia said, casually kicking a mercenary that was struggling to their feet.

A shrill battle cry from behind had them both pausing to look for the source. It was Eresh, running up with a small knife and Gareth at his heels — the way he held the knife was all wrong; if he tried to stab anyone with it, it would be wrenched from his grip as soon as his opponent pulled away. “Stay back, Eresh!” Leandros snarled, making the dryad stop short. He barely recognized his own voice; given the looks on Eresh and Gareth’s faces, it was the same for them. He hated them seeing him like this, wild and feral. Chia was allowed, but only because she was the same as him. “We told you to go home for a reason.”

“They were only trying to help, lion cub,” Chia said, though she was clearly delighted by this side of him. She turned to Eresh and Gareth and wagged a finger. “He’s right, though. You could’ve gotten in our way, and we would have gotten in big trouble if you’d been hurt.”

Eresh was looking at the ground, ashamed, but Gareth’s eyes were on something behind Leandros. Suddenly, they widened and he shouted, “Captain!”

Leandros turned. Behind him, the bearded man was pushing to his feet, already too close for Leandros to be able to move away. He held a dagger, picked up off the ground from one of his fallen comrades, and was already raising it. Thanks to decades of boxing experience and ingrained instinct, Leandros lifted his arm to protect his torso just as the dagger was brought down. It sliced through his forearm, but he barely felt it: no pain, just a sting and the resistance of blade meeting flesh.

Snarling, having missed his target, the man raised the dagger to attack again. Then, there was a gunshot.

Another.

Another.

Just like that, the man dropped again, three bullets in his back. Down the alley, gun still raised, stood Roman Hallisey.

The world slowed around Leandros. Though he was loath to tear his eyes from this ghostly apparition, he looked down at his arm, the white sleeve already stained in vibrant crimson. Chia and the others were at his side in an instant, Chia catching and steadying him when he sagged. He could barely feel the wound, which seemed strange; he could see far more of the inner workings of his arm than he was ever meant to.

He couldn’t move his fingers.

“Roman!” Gareth called urgently, but Roman was already approaching.

He looked exactly the same as he always had — no, not exactly the same. His hair was shorter, his dark eyes tired. How many times had Leandros imagined those eyes watching him, only to look and find them gone? How often had they appeared in his dreams, vanished again with waking? Were they real now, or was this just another ghost? There was only one way to find out. He shrugged off Chia’s support and, as Roman approached, drew back and punched him in the face.

His fist met living flesh. Roman grunted in pain, stumbling back, and Gareth cried out in alarm. Leandros shook out his hand. It wasn’t a great punch. He’d hoped to break a nose or a tooth, but when Roman touched his fingers to his lips, they came away with only a little blood. Still, Leandros was glad to see it. Ghosts couldn’t bleed.

Roman glowered at Leandros. “Do you feel better now?”

“Not even slightly,” Leandros snarled back, his anger catching up with him before the pain did. Eighty years. Roman let Leandros think he was dead for eighty years.

“Gareth, remove your waistcoat,” Roman ordered, and Gareth obeyed without hesitation. Taking it, Roman balled it up and pressed it to the wound on Leandros’ arm. “You’re losing a lot of blood. You need to keep pressure on the wound,” he said slowly, clearly. Begrudgingly, Leandros replaced Roman’s hand on the waistcoat with his own, keeping pressure, and then Roman guided Leandros’ arm higher with a gentle touch under his elbow. All of his touches were gentle. Leandros had almost forgotten. “Keep it held above your heart.”

Said heart was beating quickly, unaware and uncaring that Leandros was angry with Roman.

“What do we do now?” Eresh asked, looking to Roman for answers. As far as Leandros knew, the two had never even met. There was just something about Roman — fully Egil, in this moment — that exuded authority. Leandros wouldn’t let him have it.

“We need to check the bodies,” he said before Roman could speak. “I want to know how many are alive, and I want to know who hired them.”

“We need to get you medical attention,” Roman argued.

“It can wait.”

“Only one alive, lion cub. I already checked,” Chia said. “I have their wallets and identification here — as much as they had on them, anyway, but it’s not very helpful. The living one’s unconscious for now; you really hit him good.”

Roman assessed Chia, his gaze flitting quickly from her ears to her tail to her hand on Leandros’ arm, finally ending at the brand on her wrist, visible because of how she’d rolled up her sleeves. His expression twisted with cold distaste.

“Roman is right, Captain. We should get you to a hospital,” Gareth said. Hearing that he was on a first-name basis with Roman already, Leandros’ expression soured to match Roman’s.

“No hospitals. I don’t want anyone knowing about this attack,” Leandros insisted. It was a weakness he couldn’t afford to show. “Ms. O’Neill, do you have any idea who hired them?”

While Chia picked through the wallets she’d collected, Roman sighed. “They’re mercenaries from the Broken Pistol. A Council member put a bounty on your head,” he said. “I’ve been following you since I found out.”

Leandros didn’t want to know how long that had been. As for the rest, that was unsurprising — the Alfheimr Council had had it out for him since his father’s coup, especially after he started getting closer to Amos and Rhea. He felt a headache coming on. If he’d had a hand to spare, he might’ve pinched the bridge of his nose. As it was, he didn’t, and he still couldn’t move the fingers of his injured arm. He tried not to think about that.

“My hotel is quite close,” Gareth suggested. “We could get you settled there and call for a private physician.”

It was the best offer he’d get. “Very well,” Leandros said. He was beginning to feel dampness under his fingers, where blood soaked through the waistcoat. “The police will be here soon; they’ll have heard the gun shots. Someone needs to stay and explain the situation. Roman, you won’t be needed: you stay.”

Roman shifted guiltily. “I can’t. I need Gareth for something.” Gareth gave him a wide-awed, awestruck look and nodded so vigorously Leandros thought he’d injure himself. Seeing this, Roman sighed and asked Leandros, “You told him?”

“Would you have done it on your own?” Leandros asked. “Of course not; secrets come as easily to you as breathing.”

Roman winced.

“I’ll help you to Mr. Ranulf’s, lion cub. I may work for Unity, but I’m still orinian, and that’s not a good thing to be when the police come around. Eresh, you can stay, can’t you?” Chia asked.

“I — what — oh, I suppose,” Eresh said.

“Have them take any survivors directly to the island,” Chia said with a sweet smile that made Leandros shiver.

“I’m not leaving you alone with someone like her,” Roman said at the same time. “You must know what she is, Leandros.”

“And who are you supposed to be?” Chia asked, resting her hands on her hips.

“Your worst nightmare,” Roman said with a smile even sweeter than Chia’s had been.

“I trust her,” Leandros said. Roman’s eyes widened, then narrowed, his expression finally settling into something inscrutable. Leandros couldn’t shake the sense of being measured and found wanting, and it made him angry all over again. He didn’t want to look at Roman any longer. “If that’ll be all, Chia and I will go.”

Beside him, Chia stuck her tongue out at Roman. Gareth pulled out a pen and a visiting card and hastily scrawled an address and room number on the back. “My wife is home. Just tell her I invited you. We’ll rejoin you when we can.”

“Take your time,” Leandros said. He didn’t look at Roman. “If I don’t have to see him again today, all the better.”

With that, he left, not missing Roman’s tired sigh as he passed. It stuck with him, though, echoing around and around in his head as he followed Chia to Gareth’s hotel.

A LOT happened in this chapter! What did you think? Were you expecting the big reunion to go that way?

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